When I woke the park was still busy, but Yaya’s crew had disappeared. For a while I couldn’t get up – just lay there listening to the sounds: a bicycle bell, a crying child, faint guitar music mixed with laughter. I lifted my wrist in the air and looked at Manu’s watch. Four thirty-four. Each tick was another second we were further apart. My belly felt like an empty bowl.
Slowly, I pushed myself to standing and walked toward the park exit. The garbage cans along the path were overflowing with picnic remnants. I stopped at one of them and picked through the topmost refuse: sticky pop cans, ice cream wrappers, bags of sweating cheese rinds, apple cores. I’d have to go to Peter’s on my own now, and I didn’t want to be hungry when I saw him. I pulled out a paper bag that was see-through with
